Well, as long as you don’t count one sentence thoughts on facebook.com

Lots of things have happened in the past year. I purchased and now live in my very own house, I’ve seen the pacific ocean, New York City, and some more murder victims.

We’ll start with the murder victim. One fine day while working I was driving around downtown after filling up my car with petrol. It was a wonderfully crisp September day, as it was one of the first truly non-sweltering days of the year. My afternoon was coming to an end and I would soon be turning in paperwork, throwing my work bag in the passenger seat of my truck and heading home. An alarm went out over the radio advising me, along with all co workers of a victim of a shooting just north of the interstate. Due to my proximity to the location of the shooting, I immediately responded and quickly arrived on scene. With gun drawn I approached the scene and I began searching for someone holding a gun (besides myself, duh). An gentle looking elderly man approached me, raised his hand and woefully stated “Its me officer, sir, I’m the one that shot him.” as he hung his head in shame. Other co workers arrived, and we began to gather information.

I recognized the old man from a conversation I had with him earlier that day, while the morning dew still lay wet on the grass. I had told him that I was looking for a shoplifter who had stolen food from the corner store down the block from him. I had told the man that this shoplifter was a thief and would probably steal from him too, so he needed to keep his eyes out for him. Not long after I realized that the same old gentleman that had just confessed his misdeed was the same man from earlier, the man stated, “Is that the man you was lookin for this mornin?” I looked at the lifeless body of a young man, strong, tall, and tattooed, easily dwarfing the old man, if only there was still breath in his lungs. Blood soaked the tight white muscle shirt worn by this young man, as he faced up with his eyes closed. His blue jacket lay underneath his back, unzipped, and opened on the cold concrete slab, the blood had not yet reached his blue jean shorts, but would soon taint them too. The same tight white muscle shirt, blue jacket, and blue jean shorts that were worn by a tall, muscular, young man that had stolen a soda water and bag of chips from the worn down old food store on the corner down the block.

The old man had been “Shooting the Breeze” with the young man, who was now being strapped to a gurney, plugged to machines, and intubated by paramedics before disappearing into the haze that was the world outside of this scene. The old man had several dollar bills hanging from his pocket, which the young man noticed. The young man then lunged for the old man’s pocket, however, the old man, despite his age, reacted quickly to gain distance from the young man. The old man asked the young man, “Say, what the hell you doin, man?” The young man then grabbed a screwdriver from a nearby table and approached the old man. In what was later described by the old man as his “last and only choice”, the old man retreated to his garbage cans, pulled from behind them his rusty old .38 Rossi revolver, and, quivering with fear, shot the young man once in the chest, causing his left lung to collapse and the left half of his heart to rupture, a mortal infliction. This old man, now crying, and looking only at my feet told me, “I didn’t want to have to shoot him, he just wouldn’t stop. I never woulda shot him if he just woulda stopped.”

The remainder of this day was the fog of SOPs, crowd control, media relations, crime scene tape, flashes of forensic investigators’ cameras, detectives’ offices, and book in procedures. Tomorrow the same block, the same street, and the same trampled down trail beside the ditch would have the same cars drive them, the same people walk them, and a few might stop to point at the yard and tell the others their version of what they had heard happened and soon even they would no longer tell the stories. The events that transpired on that cold concrete slab of a front porch would be reduced to a report filed away in a cabinet for no one to read, no one to care about. Even the blood that once pooled and soaked the concrete in stark contrast to the grey with its deep, rich red would be washed away by the next rain. The old man, who, even as this is written, sits lonely in a cold cell, wearing an orange jumpsuit, two sized too big, labeled on the back with “JEFF CO. JAIL”, charged with what detectives called a murder, wouldn’t soon forget. He would sit, with nothing but time, and think of that day, over, and over, wondering what could have gone differently. Maybe the money wasn’t as important as he once thought, sure he worked for it, cutting grass and hustling odd jobs around the neighborhood, he earned it. But what was it really worth to him now?

For me, a cog in the wheel, who acts and reacts without bias or prejudice, who takes nothing personally and everything objectively, I wont forget. The young man’s name has long gone from my memory, but the old man and the “justice” he is to soon receive, will not soon be forgotten. Perhaps the Lord will bring him home before he is robbed of the rest of his life, too.

On a much, much lighter note:

I went to motherfucking California.

That sign behind me says Hollywood. In case I forgot where I was and usually looked at a mountain to get my answer.

I left the Cornerstone Music Festival in Bushnell, IL and drove on I-80 through Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada, finally finishing in San Francisco. On the way, I stopped at the worlds largest truck stop, The Iowa 80, and bought a t-shirt. It was like a mall in the middle of a corn field. There wasn’t even really a town there.

Once I got to SF, I took in the city. From the North Shore, where I saw Alcatraz, and this…

to the winding Lombard St.,

to the Golden Gate Bridge,

to AT&T Park,

I saw as much of SF as I could, then headed down Hwy. 1 (Pacific Coast Hwy.) to LA

I drove this road for about eight hours and it was glorious.

I didn’t take nearly as many photos in LA as I did in SF, but I did see theChariot in Pomona, Ca.

And, thankfully, this too…

LA is way too big and busy for me, but it was really fun nonetheless.

I took a trip to NYC with justinleblancimages.com and two girls we met from IL for New Years 2009 and it was one of the funnest trips I’ve had.

I watched Justin freeze so hard on Montauk Point and rode a subway, saw the new and old Yankee Stadium, Brooklyn, Times Square, the ledge outside of a window on a skyscraper, Central Park, and lots and lots of Manhattan.

Also, while in New York, New York (the city so nice, they named it twice), I experienced something I never have before. My windshield washer fluid froze. I didn’t think that it was possible, but when I tried to get the ice off of my windshield, nothing came out. I checked, and yes sir, froze solid. Somehow we managed to make the hour drive to Montauk Point though, and Justin froze real hard cause it was like 7 degrees with a 20 mph wind.

All in all, this past year has been pretty good. Its had its ups and downs, but it was ok. I’m still here, and in good health, with a roof over my head, and food in my belly, all the rest is just a little extra luxury. I have a new roommate for now, and its going pretty good. She calls me dad. Its kinda strange but I’ll probably get used to it.

Goodnight and Godspeed,

Josh.

For real, I did!  I’m not making it up.

I met her at the Barking Dog for a Photography Expo for the first time.  We had coffee and looked at some wonderful artwork.  Justin’s was by far the best, as evident by the pricetag.  Then we went upstairs to get away from the noise and crowd, and we talked over coffee/tea about anything we could think of. 

It was the first time I really liked a girl’s personality and character.  Not to mention she is stunningly pretty, well-traveled and intellegent.  We enjoy the same music and television and movies and activities. 

We then went to a killer party at Colin’s apartment and I learned about Ghost Riding the Whip, which is the best thing gangsters have created since crack.

All in all, it was a great night meeting a great girl, and I hope to see her again.

Good day,

-Josh.

At least not a real one.

I was looking forward to seeing either one today. However, sadly, I only saw the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It was dumb, but it did get me super excited about going to New York, New York. Maybe since we’ll be closer to Plymouth Rock there, we will be able to see some Pilgrims in action doing Pilgrim things like praying and wearing buckles on their shoes and hats. The Pilgrim children will be drawing really aweful turkeys by outlining their hands and the indians will be doing indian things like eating buffalo hearts and having saggy boobs.

I went to my Nonnie and Paw Paw’s house for Thanksgiving this year, much like years past, but something different and terrible happened this year.

My grandparents have a blue healer dog, which is a huge, broad shouldered beast, for those of you who don’t know. Plus, this dog hates my guts and is vicious towards me. My Nonnie tried to get it to like me so she went outside with me to show it that I was an ok dude. My Nonnie held it by its collar and told me to put my hand out so that it could smell me and get to know me. I stuck my hand out in front of its face. It began to growl. Then there was a pain in my fingers. The beast then turned its ugly head and bit my Nonnie on the arm. My Nonnie began to bleed as she hammered at the beast with a wooden spoon. The beast was then placed into its den and retired for the rest of the day.

Then we ate.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Goodnight,

Josh.

Why do we celebrate this day?  Is it because we like veterans?  Or Armistice?

Probably.  So happy Armistice Day.

I am being forced to watch The Biggest Loser:Family Edition by my roommate, Heather, who loves reality shows.  I watched Comedy Central earlier today and I was way more happy.  Not so much now.  It makes me very happy that I am not a fat retard.  I have gained twenty pounds in the last year, which concerns me. 

Recently I have tried to start eating more healthy and trying to eat less.  I’m not doing nearly as much as I probably should. 

When I graduated the police academy, I was, by far, the fastest sprinter and the fastest long distance runner.  I recently had to chase a forty year old crackhead approximately two blocks across ditches, wicked tall grass, asphalt and through fences.  Then I pepper sprayed him because he was going to fight me.  Afterward, I thought I was going to vomit and die in the street in front of a dilapidated house in the hood.

If thats not enough motivation for me to get back in shape, then I don’t know what is.

Goodnight,

-Josh

A lot of it.

I’ve come to realize that I am beginning to feel like Michael Scott when it comes to finding someone.  I mean, granted, I wouldn’t frame the company waiver of liability proclaiming my love for my girlfriend.  No, nothing to that extent.  Nor would I feel it necessary to tell everyone about how we kissed this one time when we got really drunk.

I get anxious thinking about the future lately.  I have a career that I plan on doing the rest of my working days and I’m in the process of buying a home.  But I can’t seem to even get close to finding someone who I really love, and I’m beginning to think that I can’t love anymore.

That’s a bold statement, but that’s what I’ve been realizing lately.  No matter what happens or who I fancy, it never seems to go more than skin deep.  I don’t know if its because I won’t let myself see more than that or if I really don’t have the capacity to do so anymore.  There have been a great many people who I have come to admire and feel as though I could get along with enough to court.  But I haven’t even come close to finding someone who I can really “fall in love” with.  I haven’t felt any chemistry with anyone for years. 

There’s always those initial butterflies and insubstantial feelings that I get when someone new comes into my life, but its never lasting.  Never.

Which brings me to why I feel like I’ve become Michael Scott.  Now, Michael Scott wants nothing more than to have a family and most of all, children.  He dates Jan with the prospect of raising a family with that evil, unstable woman.  Which, whether he realizes it or not, is the compromise he deals with in order to achieve his goal.  Not to mention all of the other antics and failed attempts to land women throughout the series.  I think his intentions are good, but he lacks the necessary means to achieve it happily and with the right woman.

This is my current standing.  I want to find that lasting love, but I lack whatever it is that I need to find it.  I can put on a front and appear charming and intelligent, but after a while the real Josh appears.  Selfish, shallow, petty and jealous.  Which is what keeps me from being happy.  Who in their right mind would put up with me after the newness and initial “butterflies” wear down?  I wouldn’t.

Maybe that’s why I can’t “fall in love”.  Because I know the inevitable will eventually happen and the wonderful person I found will find out that I am a complete douchebag, to put it simply.

But maybe it’ll be different when it happens.  I mean, if I did find that one perfect person, the one I would die next to, maybe it could be motivation enough to be the best companion I could be.  Right?

But I won’t know until it happens.

Goodnight,

-Josh.